“Yeah, I know,” Jonathan Quinn said. “Did you see him? I mean, where the hell was he?” “Doesn’t matter.” “Damn. Came out of nowhere.” The man sucked in a wet breath. “What’s your name?” Quinn asked. Even in his current condition, the man hesitated, then said, “Eric.” “You can call me Jonathan,” Quinn told him. He didn’t use his first name often, but this was one of those times that seemed right. Of course, it was only his professional name, so it didn’t really matter. “Jonathan,” Eric said, as if confirming the offer. “I...ah...guess I’m lucky you...were here.” Quinn smiled to hide his own hesitation. “Yeah. Lucky.” Another ragged breath. “You want to lie down?” Quinn asked. “No,” Eric said. “This is fine.” Quinn pressed his right hand a little harder against Eric’s wound. Like his left, it was covered with a surgical glove. He knew the pressure wasn’t doing much more than cutting down on the external bleeding, but it would make the guy feel like he wasn’t alone.
